


Once More with Rhythm

by spikesgirl58



Series: Working Stiffs [81]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2019-08-01 10:34:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16282997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: An UNCLE agent needs to know more than just how to shoot and steal micro dots. That's where a dance instructor comes in handy.





	Once More with Rhythm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MariaPriest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MariaPriest/gifts).



My mom used to tell me that I was conceived during a dance marathon – she was madly sparse on details, though. She told me I used to kick in rhythm to whatever music she was listening to when she carried me.  Even before I could walk, she said I’d watch _The Ted Mack Original Amateur Hour_ and bounce in time with any music being played.  It certainly didn’t surprise anyone when I started dancing.

When other little girls were playing house and raising their dollies, I was ballroom dancing with mine. While other little girls dreamed of becoming ballerinas, I wanted to waltz.  They dreamed of ponies, I dreamt of the perfect dance partner, who always seemed to look like Daddy.

By the time my classmates were going out for sports or cheerleading, I was working at an Arthur Murray Dance Studio along with my folks. It was great.  I knew I wasn’t going to college, although my folks offered.  We opened up our own place and I had everything I wanted.

Then Daddy was killed in a freak accident. It took a long time for Mom and me to recover. The dancing helped a lot.  It took our minds off things… too many things, in fact.  By the time Mom got around to having that ache checked out, the cancer had spread too far.  She passed away a few months afterwards.  And somehow, after that, the dancing lost its charm.

I kept at it, of course, because it was all I knew how to do, but I no longer felt the music. I began to regret not having gone to college.  At least then I could have gotten a job as a secretary.  Still, that didn’t seem to affect my business.  I still had enough students to keep my doors open.  I sold the home I’d shared with my parents and used most of that to pay off Mom’s medical bills and set up a cot in the back.  It was less than ideal, but it was a living. 

That all changed one day when two men stumbled into my dance studio. The noise they made brought me to my feet.   They looked around as if unsure of their setting.

“May I help you?”

The taller by a hair pulled something from his jacket, an ID card, but I didn’t really have time to study it. “We’re being chased, can you help hide us?”

Believe it or not, it was not the oddest request I’d ever gotten. Instantly, I liked the man, although I’m not sure why.  The guy with him, slender and blond, was more my style.  Still, I sensed their urgency.

“This way!” I led them to the back and the stock room.

Within ten minutes, I had a lively _cha cha_ going and I was singing along with the lyrics. The front door slammed opened and three rather large men ran in.

“Where are they?”

I gestured to them to lower their voices. “Keep going.  One, two, cha, cha, cha, one, two, cha, cha, cha.  Mrs. Wright, stop trying to lead.”  I walked over to them.  “We are in the middle of a lesson.  How can I help you?”

“Two men, disreputable sorts, did they come in here?”

That’s when I saw their guns and felt a thrill of fear lace up my spine. “They did and messed up the place and went out the back door. They were terrible.  Mr. Wright, your partner is a delicate belle, not a sack of flour.  Gently guide her – don’t yank.”

The leader got closer to me, so close I could smell the stink of desperation on him. “Where does the back door lead?”

“To an alley and the street.”

He made a decision and gestured. “Come on.”

“Boss…” One of the three had noticed the couple, really noticed them.  “What about--?”

“Shut up, moron.”

“But, boss…” He pointed, “I think--”

“You don’t think. That’s why I’m in charge.”

The music ended and the couple embraced and kissed enthusiastically as if they’d achieved a great accomplishment. I smiled in spite of the terror that was threatening to make me get sick all over the place.

The toadie winced and looked away. “You’re right.  He’d never do that, not Solo.” 

They raced through my meager living quarters and out, leaving the door wide open. The wind that blew through was cold and I shivered.

I started a new record. “We’ll try a fox trot now.  Just move to the music and I will get the charts.”

Walking to the back, I hugged myself, partially from the chill of the wind and from the men. I locked the door and swayed slightly. 

Immediately, there were warm arms around me. I should have been shocked, but instead I leaned back into them.  They felt strong and reassuring.

“Lizzie, you were great,” Mr. Solo murmured into my ear.

Mr. Solo’s comment made me giggle. “Lizzie was my mother.  My daddy was Desi, but she used to call him Dizzy, hence the name of the studio, Dizzy and Lizzie.  I’m Dana.”  I turned around as Mr. Kuryakin joined us.  “He kissed you.”  I remembered feeling stunned when I saw it.

“It’s not the worst thing that he’s done in our line of work.” He looked around.  “Where are our clothes?”

“Oh, I tossed them out into the alley in case they came back here to look.” I walked over to the sink and lifted out some dishes.  “I have your wallets and guns in here.

“What did I tell you, partner? She’s good.”  Mr. Solo disappeared out the back, leaving me alone with Mr. Kuryakin.

“You… um… you seem… okay in that outfit.”

Mr. Kuryakin looked down at the knitted two piece he’d squeezed into. “And not the worst thing I’ve had to do, either.”  He smiled and my knees went a little funny.

Mr. Solo reappeared and did not look happy. “Bad news.  I guess THRUSH, not able to get us, took our clothes… and the microdot.”

“No, trust me, it’s safe.”

“Where?”

Mr. Kuryakin looked at me again, smile impishly and winked. “That would be telling.”

“You mean, your clothes are gone? I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t worry. Do you happen to have another change for Illya?  That color really isn’t him.”

“How do you do it? I mean, those men… I think they would have killed you if they’d caught you.”  I dug through all the costumes I had in stock, even though I knew there wasn’t another suit the right size.

“Possibly. We do it because it’s our job.”  Mr. Solo had retrieved his property and handed Mr. Kuryakin his. 

“Gallows humor helps.”

“Sorry. There’s nothing else, although I do have some flats.  Those heels will do your feet in.”  I pulled out the shoes remembering the night of the costume party.  Daddy had looked quite the sight in the dress that Mr. Kuryakin wore and I remembered him telling me that the best thing a woman could do was take care of her feet.  He’d bought both heels and flats for the occasion.

Mr. Kuryakin sighed and Mr. Solo offered him his arm. “Shall we go, my dear?”

There was laughter and Mr. Kuryakin nodded. “I thought you’d never ask.  Just remember, I’m a delicate belle, not a sack of flour.  Gently guide me – don’t yank.”

With that they were out of the door and I thought out of my life. I sat to think about everything that had to happen for this to have worked.  Talk about serendipity.

At least, I thought that was the end of it. The next day, a package and a lovely bouquet of flowers arrived with a note, _Many thanks for your kindness_ and it was signed _Your Uncles_.  I felt happier than I had in a long time.  I arranged the flowers in a vase and put them in my front window, then I prepared for my afternoon lesson.  A private school had arranged for their senior class to come in for lessons prior to their prom.

When I heard the door tinkle, I turned ready to welcome the students. Instead there was a little old man standing there, his fedora in his hands.

“Miss Hailey?”

“Yes?”

“The dance instructor?”

“Yes.”

“I must speak with you.”

The door jingled again and this time is was some children, embarrassed and hiding it with laughter.

“I’m just about to start a lesson. Can you come back later?”

“What I have to say won’t take long, but I think you will find it very profitable.”

And that was my formal introduction to the UNCLE.

 

After it became apparent that there was indeed a real live organization and one that was as caring as it was generous, I knew what I had to do. I boxed everything up and moved closer to Manhattan.  Thanks to UNCLE, I got a place just a few blocks from headquarters.  I sold my studio and settled into a new life.  The years and the faces sped by.  I got to know the Section Two and Section Three agents fairly well. 

I taught them how to move correctly and be able handle themselves on the dance floor. Sadly, fewer and fewer restaurants offered dining and dancing and all the lovely dances of the past gave way to more exuberant forms of free style dancing.  Still, an agent needed to know how to slow dance properly and soon my course was a requirement for both sections. 

There was also a steady stream from other sections, folks who just wanted to learn a new dance or improve their own form.

The years flew by and gradually Mr. Solo and Mr. Kuryakin became Napoleon and Illya.  I went out on a few dates with Napoleon, but it never lead to much.  I never did find Mr. Right, but somehow, it didn’t matter.  My days were full and my nights were peaceful.

At least until IT exploded on the scene. IT was everywhere, all invasive.  And it was inevitable that IT would end up on my doorstep in the strangest way possible.

“I don’t want to be here.” I heard Napoleon’s voice before seeing him.  It was rather odd, not hearing his voice as the door to the dance studio was open, but rather the comment.  Napoleon loved to come down here to dance.  He often filled in for me when I needed male partners.  He always left a wistful heart in his wake.

“Neither do I, but you heard Mr. Waverly.”

“When are we going to find ourselves in this situation?”

“When would I be buried in concrete, nearly drowned by soap bubbles or strapped onto the back of a stink bomb? It pays to be prepared.”

Illya was the first one to enter and he waved. “Hi, Dana.  How are you?”

The guys were both on the other side of the mandatory retirement from field work and yet they still seemed to be out there fighting the good fight.

“Illya and… Napoleon?” Reluctantly, he entered, looking like a petulant child.  “What on earth has gotten into you?”  He was staring and I followed his gaze.  It was directed at a poster of _Saturday Night Fever._ Travolta stood there, a vision of white polyester and gold chains.  “Not you two?”

“Sadly, yes.” Napoleon’s shoulders sagged.  “I surrender to whatever this insanity called disco is.”

I giggled. Napoleon always made me laugh.  “It’s not that bad.  We’ll start with something easy like _The Bus Stop_ and work our way up from there.  Maybe we’ll even make it to _The Funky Chicken._ ”

“Be still my heart,” Illya muttered.

 I looked around the studio, but my fellow dance instructors were missing.  “We seem to be short a partner.”

“That’s okay,” Illya said, smirking. “It’s probably better if we keep this close to the vest, if you know what I mean.  If the secretarial pool finds out Napoleon can boogie down, I’ll never see him again.”

“Okay. Tell you what, I’ll even close the studio for you.”  I walked over to the door and locked it.

“You’d do that?” Napoleon’s voice was hopeful.

“Sure. What are friends for?”

He scowled at his partner and made a face. “I frequently ask myself that.”

Illya looked truly wounded. “I said I was sorry that I mentioned it to Mr. Waverly.  It was supposed to have been a joke.  How did I know he’d act on it?”

I walked over to the record player and found an appropriate song. “Okay, if you two want to take your positions on the dance floor.”

“I swear if you have a camera on you, Kuryakin…”

“Would I do that to you?”

“In a heartbeat.”

“Tell you what, to prove there are no hard feelings, I’ll even let you lead, Mr. Wright.” He grinned and Napoleon laughed, twirled him around and led him to the dance floor.

They did it all that day, from _The Bump_ to _The Hustle_ to _YMCA,_ and as God as my witness, I still don’t know where Illya had that camera…

 

 


End file.
